As the Name Suggests

I’ve been having a lot of trouble articulating myself this week. The sensation of groping for words is - at least in English - somewhat unfamiliar and therefore disconcerting. Perhaps my brain’s just tired, but I blame it partly on my living situation. Being a non-fluent speaker of Japanese, I am prone to bad grammar and odd usage (“I misplaced him a few years ago,” I said recently, referring to my former landlord; I had meant to say, “He passed away.”), which must make conversations with me pretty hard work. I often find that Japanese people prefer to talk with me in English. This, of course, requires that I grade my language to varying degrees, a taxing endeavor of a different kind. That’s not to say that I walk around speaking a Japanized patois, but my speech does lose a lot of nuance.

So you can imagine the pleasure I felt recently at discovering a bar whose name provides a succintly apposite description of its atmosphere. I’m rather fond of the tiny bars clustered among the pocket of buildings between the train tracks and Meiji Dori called Nonbei Yokocho, or Drunkard’s Alley. Drunkard’s Alley is Shibuya’s answer to Golden Gai in Shinjuku, although its two narrow strips of watering holes can’t compare to the (literally) hundreds of bars crammed into Golden Gai. Still, it’s a fun area to visit, and I was happy to stumble upon this bar the other night, when my friends and I found ourselves with an hour to kill before dinner. Many of the places in Nonbei Yokocho don’t open before 8:00 and most require a seating charge of around Y1000; here, they open at 6 and there’s no charge.

It’s easy to miss the entrance, a half-sized glass door bearing the bar’s cryptic insignia. Walking up the slender staircase, you feel as though you’ve wandered into a rose-pink Lilliputian lounge. The bar seats an optimistic four, but when it’s busy they take out the chairs. The bartender claims that they can pack 10 people in if they have to.

“Ten?” I asked, incredulously. “Ten…people?”

“Well,” he paused and glanced at my companions, two tall Americans, “it might be a little difficult to fit in ten non-Japanese people.” He smiled apologetically and blushed the color of the lights.

Across the counter, we were barely six inches apart. As I tried to imagine where the other seven people could possibly squeeze in (Would some stand behind the bar? Was there a secret room?), I realized that I didn’t know the bar’s name.

“What’s this place called?” I asked.

“Tight,” the bartender responded.

I laughed. “Indeed, it is.”

Tight
Nonbei Yokocho 1-25-10 Shibuya 2F
03-3499-7668
Closed Sundays

Upping the Gastronomic Ante

By the time I made it home from last day of the Tokyo Taste event, my head was reeling (due largely to the seriously rough English translation), and I felt like I’d been run over by a car (the translation was so bad, I actually switched to the Japanese). In a discussion both fascinating and a tad disconcerting, the chefs had tossed around provocative ideas about crafting the dining experience, re-introducing an element of spectacle into the meal, and evoking specific emotional responses.

“At one point, I wanted to ask Blumenthal, “Don’t you ever wonder if you’re taking it too far? Intellectualizing the experience so much that it becomes tiresome?’”

I pushed a small white envelope across the table that Heston Blumenthal had planted under our seats as a surprise. Inside was a sliver of clear film infused with frankincense, and a wafer meant to taste like a newborn baby.

“Why didn’t you?” JP asked, regarding the package skeptically.

“Because he’d probably hate me. Besides, I kind of know the answer. The thing that bothers me is that all these elaborate manipulations push food into an ancillary role. You can’t just sit down and have a tasty meal with your friends; it’s like you’re being forced to participate in someone’s performance piece.”

“Sure, you’re like a captive to their vision. But that Christmas meal you described sounds amazing. I’d love to have an experience like that.”

“But it’s so little about the food,” I said.

“What you’re talking about sounds like the problem a lot of people have with art music,” JP mused. “The meal you have with friends is like folk music, where it’s more about communication, socializing, community building, that kind of thing.”

“Of course.”

“What guys like Blumenthal and Achatz are doing has a completely different focus. It’s like antonal music: it requires a foundation of knowledge to appreciate it. But anyone can appreciate the basic elements of it.”

“Right, at the end of the day, it has to taste good. I certainly think there’s room for this approach, no doubt. But I can also imagine loads of chefs jumping on the molecular bandwagon just to be fashionable, which would be a terrible shame.”

“But not every chef out there is going to start cooking with nitrous oxide,” he countered.

“You mean liquid nitrogen,” I laughed and slapped the table. “If only they would start using nitrous oxide at restaurants – now that is an experience I’d love to have!”

“Whatever,” JP rolled his eyes. “What’s for dinner?”

“Meatballs.”

JP rubbed his hands together in delight. He’d been pushing for this all week.

Haute cuisine it is not, but I do make a pretty mean meatball. This time, I kept things simple, using only free-range ground chicken, garlic, a pinch of red onion, and a little Parmesean. I decided to apply some of the practical knowledge I’d gleaned from the conference and tossed in some grilled tomatoes and slightly charred eggplant to up the umami. We had this with a super food-friendly bottle of Il Nottolino Rosso di Toscana. Redolent of dusty fruit, with a firm acidic impact followed by flavors of black cherry, the wine supported the dish nicely. We were enjoying the meal so much we didn’t even notice that Misha had stolen a meatball from the pan.

“What the – Misha!” JP shrieked. “He’s never done that before!”

“Oh my word, Tokuoka-san was right,” I said, covering my mouth and pointing to the grilled tomatoes. “It must be the extra umami.”

My New BFF

Just in case you've been wondering what's happened to me, I've been covering Tokyo Taste world gastronomy summit for the Japan Times. The main thrust of this gathering of culinary masterminds appears to be molecular gastronomy - dispensing with convention and "challenging" people's perceptions. In keeping with the spirit of the event, my friend Harris and I decided to harass some of the chefs (after a few drinks, naturally).



Monsieur Robuchon never knew what hit him.

Sake Personality Quiz II

In preparation for my next Sake Fundamentals tasting session with Elizabeth Andoh, I’ve been thinking a lot about some of the lesser-known varieties of sake - namazake, nigori-zake, kimoto, and yamahai. As a result, I’ve come up with my second, more in-depth sake personality quiz. Knock yourselves out, and don't forget to sign up for our next class!


1. Which place most appeals to you?

a) France
b) USA
c) Africa
d) India
e) Thailand

2. What’s your idea of an intellectual challenge?

a) performance art
b) writing poetry
c) composing music
d) writing a novel
e) sudoku

3. Which is your power animal?

a) the hippopotamus
b) the octopus
c) the pink flamingo
d) the psychedelic frog
e) the white dove

4. What’s your idea of a fun date?

a) a night at the symphony/opera
b) bungee jumping
c) dinner at Ryugin
d) dinner at Gonpachi
e) having a few drinks, and then who knows?

5. What’s your winter comfort food?

a) spaghetti and tomato sauce with anchovies
b) beef stew
c) potato and leek soup
d) Thai curry
e) mushroom risotto

Answers:
1. a-1, b-3, c-5, d-4, e -2
2. a- 2, b-1, c-4, d-5, e-3
3. a-5, b-4, c-3, d-2, e-1
4. a-4, b-2, c-1, d-3, e-5
5. a-2, b-5, c-1, d-3, e-4

5 – 9 points: Ginjo
People love: Your poise and charm. You have an eye for quality and respect craftsmanship. You are likable and have the ability to make people feel special.
The problem: Your passive aggressiveness. When you don’t get on with someone, you usually either turn off or turn bitter. You have a tendency to toward self-importance and are easily slighted.
Tunes for your I-pod: “For Emma” by Bon Iver; “Aguas de Marco” by Bebel Gilberto

10 – 13 points: Namazake
People love: Your exuberance. You have an irrepressible optimism that can keep the party going. People are attracted to your off-beat sense of style. You make people feel alive.
The problem: Your immaturity. You are competitive in nature and can sometimes come on too strong.
Tunes for your I-pod: “Mansard Roof” by Vampire Weekend; “Simply Beautiful” by Arto Lindasy

14 – 18 points: Nigori-sake
People love: Your approachablilty. Accessible but not anodyne, you are refreshingly open-minded, fun-loving, and don’t give a fig if people think you’re cheesy.
The problem: You tend to be a little cheesy.
Tunes for your I-pod: “Lovers in Japan” by Coldplay; “Love Generation” by Bob Sinclar

19 – 22 points: Kimoto
People love: Your character. You possess a quiet, simmering power. What can I say? You rock it old school but are always looking forward. You’re full of funk, soul, and groove, and can bring out the best in people.
The problem: Your obstinance. If things don’t go your way, relationships tend to sour quickly.
Tunes for your I-pod: “Bonita Applebaum” by Tribe Called Quest; “Take Your Time” by Al Green (featuring Corinne Bailey Rae)

23- 25 points: Yamahai
People love: Your depth. Though often bold, at times you reveal astounding sensitivity. You’re complex, and you keep it real. You can persuade people to do things they never dreamed of.
The problem: Your dark side. At times brusque and sardonic, you can sometimes go too far. Your appearance at a party is frequently met with, “Who the f*** is that?”
Tunes for your I-pod: "Papa was a Rodeo" by Magnetic Fields; "Eggs and Sausage" by Tom Waits.

Six-Word Pairing Advice

I love Smith Magazine's six-word memoirs. So clever, so...concise. When I heard that their Six Words on the Food Life contest was over, I was miffed that I'd missed my chance to submit. The topic of pairing has been at the forefront of my consciousness all week, and I've managed to distill a little advice into the requisite six words here.

No meal is complete without alcohol.

Gorgonzola and Sangiovese, enemies for life.

Never underestimate the power of yamahai.

Namazake can't hang with Indian curry.

Shiraz with Thai food? No, thanks.

Sake and cheese? Now you're talkin'.

Mac and Cheese hearts cheap Chardonnay.

Serve expensive daiginjo as an apertif.

I'm still of half a mind to share my six-word memoir, though: My hangovers have a noetic quality.